


A Little Fright Foreplay

by kingbooooo



Series: The Naked British Baker Trio [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Couples Costumes, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gotta stay quiet, Halloween Costumes, James in a jumpsuit, James' filthy mouth, M/M, POV Alternating, Self-indulgent smut, Spooky Halloween!, fleabag jumpsuit, not a lot of what I'd call plot but let's be honest that's not why you're here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: “Yes!  We are going to the haunted house.”  James slapped his hand away.  “Where’s your sense of the season?  Don’t you want everyone to see your Hot Priest costume?  It’s going to be a real spooktacle!”“Stop using that word.”- - -James convinces Francis to go to a haunted house.   They get busy.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: The Naked British Baker Trio [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578076
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	A Little Fright Foreplay

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same universe as The Naked British Baker, but if you don't want to go wading into that multi-part story, all you really need to know is, established relationship, and Cornelius is Francis' jerk cat.
> 
> A lot of references to the Fleabag jumpsuit, which, if you haven’t seen Fleabag (why not??), google Fleabag jumpsuit and hot priest.

Not for the first time, Francis found himself asking how he’d let James talk him into this. It was the same way James always managed to talk him into anything. That face.

James would have some idea. “Say, Francis, here’s a thought.” He’d look down, his lashes fanning out across his cheek, giving a low chuckle. “How would you like to…” he’d trail off, looking up, smiling and catching his lower lip in his teeth.

Every. Goddamn. Time.

That is not to say that James got his way all the time. He did not. Francis had put his foot down on the matching tattoos (“No, James”), the rescue greyhound that also happened to have a biting problem (“No, James”), and the trip to Burning Man (“No, James. No. Fuck no”). He’d lost, however, the battle on the clawfoot bathtub (joke was on James, Francis started taking a lot of tub baths) and the chinchilla (“Francis, meet Bernadette!”).

So when James had proposed a haunted house attraction, Francis had agreed, but only after making James argue his point.

“It’ll be fun!”

“James,” Francis had replied, looking over the top of his crossword, “I do not like fun.”

“Oh, Francis, now you’re just being difficult. It’s either this or a joint costume again.”

Francis sighed. “All right. I don’t really have a choice, do I? And don’t think I haven’t seen the Fleabag jumpsuit in the back of your closet. Am I correct to assume that the priest costume is on its way?”

James laughed. “Friday. It’s going to be a real spooktacle!”

“Christ. Don’t ever use that word again.”

\- - -

The thing about Francis was that he, for whatever reason, did not like to show excitement about things. It could be explained by a British stiff upper lip except that Francis was, of course, Irish. James had to prod him a bit, but the reward was always there. One year at Christmas, he’d gotten Francis to put on the St. Nick suit. Francis had almost refused to take it off, James finally stating that he was not going to fuck Santa Clause to get him out of it.

Halloween was no different. James had slowly ramped up the decorations. A pumpkin or two here, a bat on a string there. Francis had barely looked up when James carried no less than three fake gravestones past.

“James.” Francis’ voice was sharp, freezing James on the spot. A plastic leg bone fell out of his arms.

“What?”

“James. How many more decorations are you planning to encrust our home with?”

James turned, an arm bone slipping and bouncing off the floor.

“Is it…too much?”

Francis sighed, putting the newspaper down. Cornelius jumped up from the floor, settling onto it with a gentle crumpling sound. Francis walked over, bending to collect the loose plastic bones.

“It is a lot. I know you want to make every holiday perfect. But they don’t have to be. I love that you want everything to be spooky and fun.” He leaned in to kiss James on the cheek. “But no more skeletons or gravestones or pumpkins, otherwise I’m going to put them all on your side of the bed, and I will cancel Halloween. No. More. Decorations.”

James snuck in one last one, a papier-mâché black cat.

\- - -

“I feel very stupid,” Francis said, tugging at the collar of his costume. How had he allowed himself to get talked into this?

“Well, you look rather delicious, Francis,” James replied. “Zip me up?” He looked over one shoulder, his dark hair having been curled so that it floated around his ears in a cloud of soft waves. He’d done up his eyes, too. Francis had needed to look away as James ran that very pointy-looking pencil around his eyes. And he’d put on lipstick, red, and something on his cheeks. Francis didn’t think it was possible for James to get much prettier, but he had been wrong, quite wrong. 

His fingers found the hook and eye closure, fastening it before pulling the zipper up, lingering along where the back cutout ended.

“Thank you,” James demurred. He ducked his head before turning to face Francis. “How do I look?”

_Bloody amazing._

_The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen._

_Like a man who needs a decent and thorough fucking._

James hadn’t done any padding or the like, so it was fairly apparent he was a man in a jumpsuit, even with the makeup. The collar accentuated his long neck, ending right below where his Adam’s apple bobbed as James swallowed nervously. The keyhole went down to his mid chest, a bare swath of pale skin stark against the black fabric. And the trouser legs just went on forever, James having pulled out a battered pair of black pumps. He looked nearly the sexiest Francis had ever seen.

“Ah. Well.” Francis coughed. His eyes roamed back up, taking in James’ hands, which were clasped in front. How he loved those hands, his long elegant fingers, the bluish veins visible beneath his pale skin, narrowing to his wrists. Francis’ gaze moved up to the forearms, strong and lean, his muscled biceps. James liked to comment on Francis’ freckles (he had begged Francis, unsuccessfully, to let him play connect-the-dots with a marker), but James had a sprinkling of them too, dark beauty marks across his arms with a few down his chest.

And his face, so sharp and masculine, but so lovely and soft with the makeup. Francis was having difficulty marrying the two in his mind, but he liked it very much.

“Very, very pretty, James.” Francis swallowed, knowing full well the effect James was having on him, his face turning red as James bloomed with pride. “Do we have to go to the haunted house? We could stay in. Let me take a look at what’s under that jumpsuit.” Francis ran a finger along the keyhole cutout.

“Yes! We are going to the haunted house.” James slapped his hand away. “Where’s your sense of the season? Don’t you want everyone to see your Hot Priest costume? It’s going to be a real spooktacle!”

“Stop using that word.”

\- - -

James couldn’t lie, he’d enjoyed putting the makeup on. Not all the time, but when he was at uni, he’d loved any kind of party where he could do a little cross-dressing.

He wasn’t particularly interested in, what was the term he’d heard a drag queen use? Being unclockable? He liked looking like a man in a dress, a very pretty man in very pretty makeup. If Bowie could pull it off, then so could he.

Francis seemed to like it as well. It really was only for special occasions, and at their age, that was generally Halloween. James had dug out every old photo of him in drag, Posh Spice, Holly Golightly, and the year he’d gone as Lady Godiva and had nearly gotten arrested on public indecency charges. Most of the costumes had been given away during his various moves, but each Halloween was an opportunity to try something new.

James had felt a touch of disappointment when he’d pulled the jumpsuit out of the packaging, the fabric, some kind of rayon material feeling a little cheap under his fingers.

But then he’d put it on.

He looked hot.

He’d read the comments online, the women who raved about how the jumpsuit was life-changing and elegant and sexy and dangerous and James was a little angry at how right they were. It showed off his arms and shoulder and flat stomach. It made his legs look like they went on for miles. The back was open, too, revealing the muscling there.

And he felt hot too.

Then he’d added the makeup, marveling, not for the first time, at how large it made his eyes look, and his lips, that ruddy salacious color, a color that required such care to apply lest it veer into clownish territory. But the reward, watching Francis flush and stumble over his words, his eyes darting away, oh how James loved it.

If Francis hadn’t been wearing that full priest getup, James would have shoved him onto the bed and put his mouth on Francis until he came, getting lipstick all over his cock, listening for that little stuttering sigh he gave as he did so.

But they had a haunted house to go to.

Blushing over Francis’ compliments, James bent down to kiss him. 

“Think you’ll be warm enough?” Francis asked.

“Of course I will. I’ve got you with me, don’t I? Now let’s go get frightened!”

\- - -

James was, and would always be, an incorrigible flirt.

On the drive over, he’d had his hand on Francis’ knee. Then, when they’d parked, he’d redone his lipstick in the mirror, dragging it slowly over his already red lips, his mouth opened in a large O shape, pressing his lips together and rubbing them gently to redistribute the colour. It was obscene and he knew it. And then someone had wolf-whistled at him, James turning to the cat-caller, shaking his finger and giving an exaggerated wink.

And of course, he didn’t bring a coat and the line was very long.

“’m cold,” he said, shivering.

“Want my cassock?”

“Technically that’s the alb, the cassock is underneath.”

“D’you want it anyway?” Francis asked.

James sighed. “No.” He rested his head on Francis’ shoulder, and arm around him as Francs curled his hand across James’ back.

“We could go home,” Francis said.

“No, you are not getting out of this, Francis Crozier. Ooooh, look! Kitty!” A small black cat darted across their path.

Francis looked up at the front of the house. “The Terror? What kind of ridiculous name is that for a haunted house?” he asked irritably.

“Don’t be cross. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Thankfully they finally made it inside, where it was much warmer.

_Was this supposed to be scary?_ Francis thought. It seemed to him to be fairly straightforward to figure out where the jump scares were, where the actors had hidden, and when they were going to get scared forward. 

James, however, insisted on shrieking as though he was being murdered and grabbing Francis. By the arm, on the shoulder, and at one point, around the waist. It was quite a lot of jostling and groping and manhandling and it was having the predicable effect on Francis, who was now extremely thankful for the long and many-layered vestments, his pulse quickening.

“James, that’s a cat,” Francis said, pointing to where a cat, was it the same one? meandered across the hall. James had screamed and grabbed Francis from behind, again. His hands kept lingering, and now, now he kept a firm grip, fingers digging in. Francis exhaled slowly, trying to will his cock to stop what it was doing. 

“Startled me,” James mumbled, resting his chin on Francis’ shoulder.

“I don’t even think it’s part of the house,” Francis groused. “And if you don’t stop pawing at me-” An actor in very poorly applied zombie makeup lurched out, James letting out a shriek, wrapping his arms around Francis, not letting go even after the actor staggered off.

Apparently the scares were having an effect on James as well. Either that or he had packed a roll of change in that bloody sexy jumpsuit. Francis’ eyes found where the cat had emerged from, a small alcove off to the side. He’d had an idea. Probably not terribly well thought-out but all of the blood was rushing away from his brain anyway. He’d had nearly too much of James grabbing at him. There were consequences for one’s actions, and James needed to learn them. Francis looked to make sure the actor had disappeared before taking James’ hand and pulling him toward the recessed area.

“Francis, what-”

“Shhh, quiet.”

There wasn’t much space, about the size of a broom closet, but there weren’t any actors hiding back there, the space concealed by a large swath of fake cobwebs, both of them ducking under.

“Francis,” James hissed.

“You wanted a fucking spooktacle, I’m going to give it to you.” With that, Francis took James’ face in his hands and pulled him into a bruising kiss, feeling more than hearing James groan into his mouth, heated desire welling up in him, bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Francis backed James up to the wall, pinning him there, James’ erection pressing into his stomach. He rutted his hips into James, his cock nearly fully erect, hearing James’ breath stutter, and an “oh, god,” as Francis’ mouth mapped along James’ jaw and neck. Francis bit gently along the tendon down to where the collar started. James’ hands were scrabbling at the, what the fuck was this stupid garment’s name? Didn’t fucking matter.

He leaned back slightly, his hands gripping James’ hips.

“Yeah? I’ve been wanting to suck you off since I zipped you up.”

James’ eyes were dark and nearly crackling with lust, his cheeks even rosier. He nodded shakily. 

“Got my lipstick on your face,” he murmured, running his thumb along Francis’ lower lip, his touch setting off a round of sparks in Francis’ already sensitive lips.

“I want to get your lipstick other places,” Francis said softly. His fingers slipped into the keyhole, up to James’ nipple, tracing it with one thumb, James arching into his touch, Francis leaning in, careful of where his lips went, not wanting to get lipstick on this garment that was giving him the most lurid thoughts. Experimentally, he tugged at the fabric.

“How d’you-”

“Careful! Don’t rip it!” came James’ whispered warning.

Near them, there was the groan of an actor jumping out behind some prop and the corresponding squeal of a surprised patron, both Francis and James jumping slightly at the noise and how close it was.

James held a finger up to his mouth before reaching behind to fiddle with the buttons at the collar. He turned around, looking over one shoulder and waiting for Francis.

Francis stepped forward, placing a kiss along James’ spine, James shivering, his skin turning to goosebumps under Francis’ lips, before unhooking and unzipping him. Lovely James, always so responsive. The air was heavy with anticipation.

\- - -

That was the problem with jumpsuits. There was a singular way to access what Francis wanted to see, which meant that James was about to be one hundred percent naked in a haunted house.

He shrugged out of the top part, unsure about how he felt about Francis seeing him like this. James had always taken a lot of pride, perhaps too much in his appearance, but he hadn’t been feeling very desirable lately.

Still, he was achingly hard, and Francis, the way he looked at him, his eyes blazing with heat and intensity, it was intoxicating. James pushed the jumpsuit down over his hips along with his boxer briefs. He shivered again, even though it was quite warm in their little hidey-hole. Francis exhaled slowly, perhaps frustratingly at James’ slowness. The jumpsuit pooled around his ankles, James stepping out, naked except for his heels. He took a deep breath, turning around.

“Christ,” Francis breathed. James looked up to see Francis, his face a marvel of hunger as he leered at James, his eyes stopping, James guessed, at James’ lips, his chest, down, down his legs, back up to where his cock jutted out, staying there before moving back up, locking his gaze with James.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Francis whispered, stepping in close and pinning him to the wall. “And if we weren’t stuck in this little space, I would turn you around and fuck you senseless. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice dropped lower as he ran his hands down James’ bare chest, curling in with his nails for the lightest of scratches, his fingertips like little embers on James’ skin. “Can’t though. You’ll just have to imagine it. God, I love feeling you squirm under me.”

If Francis didn’t take more care, James was just going to come right there, onto Francis’ costume.

“Please, Francis,” James begged. “Please. Otherwise I’m going to put the jumpsuit back on. Please.”

“So imperious.” Francis smirked, his eyebrow arched very high. Slowly, achingly slowly, he knelt, not breaking eye contact, biting his lip in. “Must stay quiet. Can you do that?”

James nodded, leaning back against the wall, Francis letting his lip unfurl from where it was caught under his top teeth. He leaned in, licking the very tip of James’ cock, sending a shudder through him. James let his eyes close and his head fall back, a dull thud against the wall as Francis took him in deeper. Fuck, fuck, he was so turned on. One wrong noise, one wrong move, and they’d be found here, James naked and wobbly in his black pumps and Francis on his knees, doing, Christ, what was he doing with his tongue, that was James’ trick, what-

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hearing shuffling on the other side of the wall. He froze, looking down, carefully pulling Francis off with one hand, holding up a finger to his lips and pointing to the wall. Francis’ eyes were deep, his lips wet and flushed dark. The shuffling continued, then a giggle, a shushing sound, followed by a thump, a growl, and a scream in short succession. 

Francis grinned, taking James’ free hand and putting it on the back of his head, James’ fingers tangling into that soft blond hair, Francis turning back to the task at hand. James felt his knees nearly buckle as Francis took him very deep, two hands on his thighs to hold him steady, fingers curling in. Francis was going to unmake him entirely.

\- - -

His knees ached, reminding Francis that he wasn’t a young man anymore. Going down on James whilst he was wearing a priest costume? He was going to hell for sure. But first he was going to bring James off.

Did James know how fucking hot he looked right now? His lipstick had gotten smeared a bit, some on his neck, transferred to Francis and back to James, and his curls were starting to lose their shape. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but James had flushed across his chest, his knees turning inward as he struggled to stay upright.

James was doing an admirable job staying quiet, biting into his fist. Francis was trying as well, but the nature of this activity meant there was a certain amount of noise, soft, quiet wet sounds as James’ cock threatened to overwhelm him, the weight heavy on his tongue. He wanted, needed to get James off, his own cock hard, achingly so, and near to finishing underneath all the layers. He also needed James to not topple over. Footsteps sounded, Francis pulling off again, replacing his mouth with his hand while they waited for the thump and scream, James shuddering and squirming against the wall.

Francis looked up at James.

“Close,” James mouthed before clenching his eyes shut.

\- - -

It was too much. The frights and the scares and the chance of getting caught and the jumpsuit and Francis, on his knees, the noises, the shrieks he kept hearing throughout the house. James’ need tightened in his gut, his core and thighs clenching and trembling. There, nearly, nearly-

Francis pressed his hips in place with one hand before going back with renewed vigor, pressure and wet heat, and that thing with his tongue.

“Francis.” James let out a stage whisper, warning before the dam burst, his need spurting into a very willing mouth. Stars pinpricked across his vision as he came, spending, his hips hitching involuntarily against where Francis had him pinned, James looking down to see Francis taking it, all of it, aftershocks trembling down his thighs.

If he were at home, he’d let Francis lead him to bed or carry him, giving him time to recover before James would roll over, hold Francis down and get him off as well. God, he loved watching that pink flush bloom across Francis’ handsome face and down his chest, see his face scrunch into that rictus he made right before he finished. No such luxury here, though.

Francis, always the consummate gentleman, held out James’ underthings, James resting one hand on Francis’ shoulders for balance as he stepped into them, the jumpsuit following, Francis standing slowly and sliding the garment up with him. James thought he could nearly hear Francis’ knees creaking.

James faced the wall so that he could be zipped up, Francis’ fingers shaking a bit as he pulled the slider up. He looked intently at Francis over one shoulder.

“My turn.”

“James, we don’t-” He’d turned, James’ hands were tugging at the cassock and alb and that other garment, James couldn’t remember. Why were there so many layers? It was like trying to find a cock in a haystack.

“I know you’re nearly there and I don’t intend to walk out of here with you sporting a stiffy. Everyone will see with a dick your size. Shh, just let me help.”

\- - -

James had somehow gotten under all of the garments and undone his button and fly, pulling Francis’ cock free. Fuck he was close, his dick throbbingly hard, James working his hands on that press of hard flesh, resting his head at the crook of Francis’ neck so he could whisper in his ear.

“You like me in the jumpsuit, don’t you, Francis? Look like I’m putting on a show for everyone, but I only go home with you. Would you like it, maybe I’ll leave just the lipstick on, and the heels, and you can fuck me like that? I need it real bad, Francis, need that cock.”

Francis groaned, muffled into James’ chest, his arms up about James’ shoulders. The mouth on this one. There was a loud bang and a scream and a second one, followed by a muted noise and an “Ow, no!” and “Louisa, don’t hit the zombie!” and a scuffling sound.

“Want you. Need you. So badly. Fuck, I’m gonna come in this suit just thinking about it.” He bit lightly on Francis’ earlobe, tugging gently, his breath hot and damp along the collar. “Would you like that? My makeup all smeared, my heels digging in while you-”

Francis caught James’ face in his hands, kissing him, hard, as that need, that fire in him dipped inward, before roaring out, Francis suppressing a moan into James’ mouth, finishing, clinging to James for support as his legs near buckled.

“Good thing you went for costuming accuracy,” James mused softly as he wiped his hands, cleaning up on one of the many layers, tucking Francis back in before buttoning and zipping his trousers, letting Francis catch his breath for a few minutes before kissing him gently.

“God I love you,” Francis mumbled.

“Mmm.” James brushed Francis’ hair back into place. “Love you too.”

They managed to sneak out behind another group, a sizeable one of college-aged men and women who shrieked nearly as loud as James had, finally exiting and picking their way slowly back to the car. No one, fortunately, said anything about two men grinning like idiots with a lot of smeared red lipstick between them. On the hood sat a cat, all black.

“From the haunted house!” James said, his voice pitched higher with excitement.

“James. No.”

James had already picked the cat up.

“Oh she’s all skin and bones.” He was looking down at the cat who was nuzzling into his bare chest. James glanced up, his eyes darting down, then back up. “Here’s a thought, Francis-”

“No.” Francis was getting into the car. “We can get her cleaned up and take her to an animal shelter, but we are not keeping her. She’s going to give you fleas.”

James slid into the seat next to him.

“Cornelius is getting older. He could use a friend.”

“He might kill her,” Francis responded. “We do not need another cat.”

“If you say so.”

\- - -

Cornelius did not kill the other cat.

He adored her.

James named her Bhageera.

“Kipling was a bloody imperialist, James.”

“But I like The Jungle Book.”

Francis was most put-out until she started sleeping on him when he napped on the couch.

“We could dress up again,” James said idly on Halloween proper. “Go back to the haunted house.”

“I’ve had quite enough bumps and scares for one year, James,” Francis replied, Bhageera chasing a very harried-looking Cornelius across the kitchen. “But I am glad you took me.” He paused, grinning. “It did turn out to be a real spooktacle after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is *extremely* rough around the edges, but if I didn't get it posted, I was just going to futz around with it until it was unrecognizable, so apologies for that.
> 
> Francis’ costume is based off the wedding scene where Hot Priest declares love to be awful. I also recently purchased the fleabag jumpsuit and it is 100% sex magic.
> 
> You may recognize a plot device I've used before and that is James rescuing a cat. James Fitzjames would rescue every animal if he could, prove me wrong.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter.com/kiingbooooo (that's two i's, I'm a fucking nightmare on there)  



End file.
